


Living Arrangements

by Emospritelet



Series: Drinking To Forget [7]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Blood, Crime Scenes, F/M, Fingerfucking, Mentions of Murder, Porn with Feelings, Shower Sex, Smut, Wall Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-26
Updated: 2018-01-26
Packaged: 2019-03-09 21:15:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13489926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emospritelet/pseuds/Emospritelet
Summary: As the New Year begins, Weaver and French find themselves investigating another murder, with few solid clues as to the killer's identity.  Meanwhile, Lacey cooks dinner, and Weaver realises his true feelings for her.





	Living Arrangements

The New Year blew in with a heavy snowstorm, drifts piling up and keeping most of the city’s residents indoors.  Weaver reflected that the terrible weather also kept the criminal underbelly off the streets as well, so it wasn’t all bad.  By the time the roads were clear enough to drive, he had managed to work his way through the backlog of paperwork he had been putting off.  He and French had been on duty New Year’s Eve, and he hadn’t seen Lacey until the next day.  She had been too hungover to want to be too sociable, and so they had curled on the couch at his place and watched TV before crawling into bed to work some of the booze out of her system.

It was three days later that another murder was reported.

He got the call when he was about to go off shift, and sighed to himself.  Another all-nighter, then, by the look of things.  French eyed him curiously as he put down the phone, and Weaver’s mouth flattened.

“A body’s been found,” he said.  “Let’s hope this one got to keep his bollocks.”

“Same warehouse?” asked French, and Weaver nodded.

“Same warehouse.”  He shrugged on his coat.  “Come on, let’s get down there.”

French wound the scarf Lacey had bought him around his neck, making Weaver want to grin.  The lad hardly took the thing off.  Still, it _was_ bloody cold out there.

When they got to the warehouse, the body was still hanging from the same metal beam that the first had been.  The dead man was naked, blood from a gaping wound in his chest streaking his body.  One of the officers nodded to Weaver, her dark ponytail bouncing behind her hat as she came over.

“Heart’s gone,” she said bluntly.  “Looks like someone just reached into his chest and tore it out.  What the hell is that about?”

“I don’t know,” he said quietly.  “But there’s definitely something weird going on in this place.”

He tapped French’s arm.  “Come on, let’s have a look around.”

There were some partial footprints in the dust of the warehouse, and a discarded cigarette butt that was bagged for evidence.  The forensics team arrived, and Weaver and French got out of their way.

“Similar M.O.,” noted French, and Weaver nodded, frowning at the warehouse interior as though that would make it give up its secrets.

“So, from the last scene we had hair and fibres in the forensics,” he said.  “None of it matched anything on the records, so either this person is a new offender, or they just haven’t been caught yet.”

“Or they’re very careful and the forensics are nothing to do with them,” offered French, and he nodded.

“True.”  He ran a hand over his face.  “There’s something weird about this.  More than usual, I mean.  Come on, let’s see if anybody saw anything.”

None of the few people loitering outside the building had seen anything, or so they claimed, and Weaver wanted to hiss in frustration.  He raked his hair with his fingers, his mouth flattening.

“It was that woman again.”

Alice’s voice made him look up, and he saw her perched on a metal fire escape, legs swinging through the bars.

“You saw her?” he asked, and she shook her head.

“Not me,” she said.  “One of my kids, Cassidy.  From what he said the description was the same, though.  Slim figure.  Dark cloak.”  She glanced over her shoulder.  “Come on, tell the detective what you told me.”

Weaver caught a glimpse of tousled dark hair and brown eyes, but the boy ducked back into the shadows before he could see his face.  Alice grinned.

“He doesn’t like cops,” she said.  “Hardly surprising, considering.  It’ll take a while before he learns to trust you.”

“In the meantime, I’d appreciate you being the go-between,” said Weaver.  “Did he see anything else?”

“She had two men with her,” said Alice.  “All muscle and no brain, you know the type.  He drew a picture.”

She pulled a piece of paper from inside her coat, passing it down to him.  Weaver unfolded it, brief outlines sketched out in charcoal, thin-lipped mouths and cold eyes in craggy faces.  The charcoal was smudged, but the features were certainly recognisable.  The boy had talent.

“From the look of that I’ve seen them before,” Alice went on.  “Pretty sure they work for our dear Mr King.”

“Interesting,” said Weaver thoughtfully.  “Not enough to arrest him, but we could certainly start asking a few questions.  How did they get here?”

“A Swyft car,” she said.  “Guy driving had a beard.”

Weaver glanced at French, who nodded.

“Could be the same guy,” he suggested.  “I suppose you want to beat him up for information again?”

“I’m hoping he won’t need persuading this time,” said Weaver dryly.  “Let’s go and pay him a visit.”

* * *

Donnie Schwartz was not at the address they were given for him, and Weaver suspected that he was still out driving his Swyft customers around.  He supposed it would keep for twelve hours or so, but he put the word out among the officers that he was interested in speaking to the man, should they happen to see his vehicle.  They went back to the precinct, French running over the evidence they had so far.

“So we have one body with missing testicles, and another with a missing heart,” he finished, as Weaver ducked into the building.  “Why do you think this murderer is taking body parts?”

“Building Frankenstein’s fucking monster, for all I know,” said Weaver grumpily.  “Let’s find out whoever the hell it is and bring them in before someone loses their fucking kidneys.”

He looked up sharply as a familiar voice caught his ear, the somewhat gravelly tone of George King.  A successful businessman who protected his interests with intimidation and violence, he was long thought to be the head of a notorious Seattle criminal gang.  Weaver had never been able to make anything stick, but it certainly wasn’t for lack of trying.  He suspected corruption; King was extremely rich, and even the best police could be bought if the price was right.  Seeing the man swagger down the corridor in a suit that probably cost thousands of dollars made him bristle.

“Mr King,” he said evenly.  “It seems that whenever I see you, you’re walking out of this precinct.  I can’t tell you how disappointed that makes me.”

King was taller than he, with a bald head and a thin mouth set in what seemed to be a permanently grim expression.  His eyes were like flint as he looked them over.  Weaver had seen eyes like that many times, and occasionally in his own mirror.  Flat and dark.  The eyes of a killer.  Two large men flanked him, heavy-boned faces expressionless.  Weaver wondered if they had been the two at the warehouse earlier.  They certainly looked similar to the drawing he had been given.

“I’ve been reporting some matters of concern to the police,” said King.  “Like the upstanding citizen I am.  It’s just terrible how much crime there is in this city, wouldn’t you agree?”

“That’s why we’re here,” said French.  “Locking up the people responsible.”

“Isn’t the latest murderer still on the loose?”  He tutted, shaking his head.  “Can’t be good for public confidence.”

“We’ll get the murderer,” said Weaver, eyeing him.  “I always hit my target.  In the end.”

“Well, I only hope the city can wait for you to get your act together,” said King, in a bored voice.  His eyes narrowed a little.  “I know you, don’t I?”

“I’m flattered that you remember,” said Weaver dryly.  “Detective Weaver, at your service.”

“At _my_ service?”  King gave him a thin smile that didn’t reach his eyes.  “I find that unlikely.  Weren’t you poking your nose into one of my businesses a year or two ago?  Some minor matter that no one cared about but you?”

“I was investigating reports of extortion and violent assault, yes,” said Weaver mildly.  “Whether you’d consider that to be a minor matter is between you and your conscience.  Such as it is.”

King smirked, looking around as though surprised to find himself there.

“Clearly it was nothing to do with me,” he said.  “It seems all that dogged police work came to nothing.  Such a pity.”

He showed his teeth, white and perfect, and Weaver’s mouth twitched in a smile.

“Well, one of your men was sent down for ten years,” he said.  “Not quite the result I wanted, but I’m a patient man.  I don’t mind a few _hors d’oeuvres_ while I’m waiting for the main course.”

King’s smile grew a little, and he leaned back, nodding.

“You should always be wary of biting off more than you can chew,” he said.  “Careful you don’t choke, Detective.”

He sauntered off down the corridor, and Weaver’s mouth flattened as he watched him go.

“We don’t have anything on him,” said French, as though he was apologising, and Weaver nodded.

“I know,” he said quietly.  “Not yet, anyway.”

* * *

The next day found Lacey hurrying along the street, swearing under her breath as the rain spattered against her face.  Since they both had the day off, she had told Weaver that she was going to cook for him, but she hadn’t figured on getting soaked when she went to buy the groceries.  A freak rainstorm had popped up out of nowhere, and although she had waited out the worst of it in the store, the rain was still falling, soaking her hair.  Torrents of water were rushing along in the gutters, creating wide pools where the road surface dipped a little.  She pushed her chin down into her collar, the paper bags of groceries tucked in the crooks of her arms.

“Should have just gotten a bloody pizza,” she muttered to herself, and a truck drove past, sending a wave of water over her and drenching her from head to toe.

“You fucking _bastard_!” she yelled after it, rainwater stinging her eyes.

She was sopping wet and furious, and she scurried along, heaving a sigh of relief as she reached Weaver’s apartment building.  The paper bags were falling apart, but she managed to get up to his floor without dropping anything and knocked on the door.  His eyebrows climbed as he looked her over.

“What the hell happened to you?”

“I fell in the bloody sea, what do you think?” she snapped.  “A bloody great truck drove through a puddle and drenched me!”

“Did you get the licence plate?” he asked, with a grin.  “I could always make his life hell.”

“Little too busy swearing my head off.”  She pushed past him, shoving one of the bags of groceries at him before heading for the kitchen.  “I’m soaked to the bloody skin.”

“You must be freezing.”  Weaver pushed the bag of food onto the kitchen counter.  “Why don’t you take a shower?  I can give you something dry to wear.”

“Thanks.”

She shrugged out of her coat, grimacing as it stuck to her arms, and he helped her off with it, pausing to cup her breasts through her shirt.

“Shit, you really are soaked!”

“What did I tell you?” she asked dryly.  “Stop groping me and let me get in the damn shower.”

He snickered at that, letting her go and following as she made for the bathroom.  She peeled off her shirt, tossing it aside and unhooking her bra.  Her skirt followed, sliding down her legs, and she tugged off her boots, straightening up to push her tights and underwear down in one swift movement.  Weaver turned on the shower, leaning against the wall and watching her as she balled up the tights and tossed them onto the other wet things.  She was shivering, her skin pebbled with the cold and hair sticking to her neck and shoulders.

“In you get, then,” he said, and she shot him a look.

“Give me five minutes to warm up, and you can join me,” she said, and he grinned, wiggling his eyebrows.

“Now there’s a delicious offer I couldn’t possibly refuse.”

“Five minutes,” she repeated.

She stepped into the shower, closing the glass door behind her and sighing with relief as the hot water cascaded over her head and shoulders.  She leaned against the dark grey slate tiles, letting her head roll on her shoulders, enjoying the heat of the water.  After a moment she began to wash, lathering her hair and rinsing before adding conditioner and then soaping herself all over.  Scrubbing her skin made it tingle, and she turned this way and that as she rinsed off the foam, the scent of mint and rosemary in her nose.  The sound of the glass door opening made her grin, and then she felt the warmth of him behind her, hands sliding over her hips and up to cup her breasts.  He kissed her shoulder, mouth trailing along to the nape of her neck, and she shivered in pleasure.

“Warmed up yet?” he asked, his voice a low rumble against her ear.  She shuddered again at the feel of his breath.

“Almost,” she said.  “My things are drenched, though.”

“There’s a dryer in the laundry room,” he said.  “I can take them down there.  After.”

“After, hmm?” she said, amused.  “After what?”

She grinned, glancing over her shoulder at him, and let out a moan as he sank his teeth into her shoulder, his hands squeezing her.

“After I make you scream,” he whispered.

She could feel him swelling against her, pressed into her left buttock, and he kissed the nape of her neck, his teeth scraping her skin as he bit down.  One hand slipped down her body, sliding over her hip and in between them.  The hand pushed between her legs, reaching up from behind, and Lacey moaned as his fingers stroked her tender skin, sliding through wet flesh to push inside her.  His thumb pressed against her rear opening, the tip just sliding inside, and she let out a tiny cry of pleasure, her cheeks flushing with the rising sensations.  He began thrusting slowly, fingers dipping in and out of her, flickering over her clit as his thumb pressed in and out, and Lacey felt as though she would burst.  His free hand squeezed her breast, thumb and forefinger plucking at her nipple, and she moaned as he sank his teeth into the back of her neck, the sensations almost too much.

His fingers were slipping against her, the water from the shower pouring over them, and he quickened the pace of his thrusts a little, her moans increasing in pitch at the feel of him.  She was leaning against the tiled wall to keep herself steady, eyes closed, losing herself in the sensations of hot water coursing down her cheeks and his fingers sliding and thrusting and twisting her flesh.  Her breathing grew rapid and shallow, a flush spreading over her face and down to her chest, and she came with a cry, jerking against his hand, her body shaking as she rode out her pleasure.  He groaned into her ear, his fingers still stroking and thrusting, one arm tight around her waist and the rigid length of him pressing into her rear.

“Fuck!” she gasped.

He slowly drew his fingers out, running his hands over her hips, the water streaming over them.  She turned to face him on legs that shook a little, and he pushed her against the wall, his mouth finding hers, his tongue pushing in between her lips.  She wrapped her arms around his neck, kissing him hard, and he reached down to grasp the backs of her thighs, lifting her up and slamming her back against the cold tiles so that he could push up against her.  Lacey gasped as she felt him there, hard and hot, and let an arm snake down between them, grasping him firmly and guiding him into her.  Weaver threw his head back with a groan as he pushed deep, his jaw clenching, and she wrapped her legs around his waist, clinging to him as he shoved her back against the wall.

Lacey closed her eyes, panting for breath, the hot water coursing over them as he thrust into her.  It was hard, almost painful, the tiles cold against her skin and their bodies slippery with water.  He kissed her again as he moved inside her, streams of water pouring over his cheeks and in over her lips, his mouth hard and hungry.  She was gripping him with taut thighs, feeling him thrust in and out of her, his body grinding against her, his fingers digging into her skin.  Her hands crept up to his hair, the strands soaking wet as she stroked her fingers through it, and he let out a low groan as his pace quickened a little, his cock thick and hard inside her.  Lacey moaned, her nails digging into his shoulders, and he pumped his hips rapidly, letting out a hoarse cry as he came.

For a moment he stilled, letting his forehead drop onto her shoulder, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath.  He was still holding her up, and she could feel him inside her, his cock still pulsing a little.  It occurred to her that they hadn’t used protection, and she felt her mouth flatten.  She wasn’t usually this careless.  That was twice, now.  Not something they should be making a habit of.  God, it had felt good, though!

He slipped out of her, letting her legs drop until her feet hit the tiles, and leaned in to kiss her, his tongue opening her up and slowly stroking.  Lacey moaned as he reached between her legs, fingers pushing into her slick heat, his thumb stroking the sensitive nub of her clit.  Weaver pulled his mouth from hers, sucking at the skin of her neck as he stroked and rubbed, and she clung to his shoulders, feeling the sensations rise up through her once more, her body tingling, as though she was being pulled apart to stream away with the pouring water.

He kissed back up her throat, his teeth nipping at her chin, and he pressed his forehead to hers, their lips barely brushing.  He was breathing heavily, and Lacey pulled his breath into her lungs, inhaling him as his fingers danced and swept and thrust.  Her cry of pleasure stuttered out between her lips, hoarse and desperate, and she felt herself clench around his fingers, tugging at him, pulling him inside her.  He pushed the fingers deep, thrusting up inside her to the knuckles, his thumb pressing against her and holding her tight, and she tried to catch her breath, feeling her skin tingle with the force of her orgasm, water from the shower pouring over her flushed cheeks.  When she opened her eyes he was gazing at her, an oddly serious expression on his face, and she licked her lips, surprised to feel tears sting her eyes.

_I love him.  I fucking love him.  What the hell am I supposed to do about that?_

Weaver drew his fingers out slowly, her fluids washing away in the shower.  There was a brief trickle of white running down her thigh before the spray of water carried it off, and he felt another surge of desire for her.  Lacey wouldn’t quite meet his eyes, and he leaned back a little.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah.”  She sent him a wobbly smile.  “That was - well, it was awesome.  Not that it ever _isn’t_ awesome.”

He kissed her with a tenderness that surprised him, pressing his lips to her forehead before stepping back and opening the shower door.

“Join me when you’re ready,” he said, and closed the glass door behind him.

He wrapped a towel around his waist, picking up Lacey’s wet things and carrying them through to the kitchen to put them in his laundry bag.  They could go in the dryer later.  He heard the shower shut off as he was opening a bottle of wine, and he took the bottle and two glasses to the bedroom, grinning as Lacey came through with her hair wrapped in a towel and another one covering most of her body.

“Warm and clean again?” he asked, and she sent him a wicked smile.

“Well, apart from my mind, yeah,” she drawled, and flopped onto the bed, reaching for the glass he held out.

He set the bottle on the nightstand and climbed on beside her, settling back against the pillows with a contented sigh.  Lacey wriggled closer, laying her head on his shoulder, and he put an arm around her as he sipped at the wine.

“How hungry are you?” she asked, and he smiled.

“I could eat, but let’s wait until we finish this glass first.”

“Good idea.”

There was a moment of comfortable silence, and he thought how pleasant it was.  Contentment was stealing through him, a rare and unexpected feeling, and for a moment he entertained a brief fantasy of what life could be like if she never left.  If they lived together.  He immediately dismissed it as a ridiculous idea; they had only been together a few months, after all, and he had spent years in solitude.  What the hell did he know about serious relationships?  The vision in his head refused to fade, however, and he found himself pulling her a little closer, turning his head to smile at her, and feeling a lurch in his chest as her eyes sparkled at him.

_God, I love her!  I fucking love her!  What the hell am I supposed to do about that?_

He took a swallow of wine before he blurted out something she wasn’t ready for, and shifted a little.  Lacey sighed happily, snuggling into his side.

“I thought I’d make pasta,” she said.  “You have some, right?”

“Of course.  What are you going to do with it?”

“I dunno.”  Her nose crinkled a little as she thought.  “I bought cream and mushrooms and bacon, so - I guess some kind of sauce with those.  Oh, I got some Parmesan cheese, too.  And some wine, to go with the pasta.  And then chips, for later.  We can watch TV and snuggle on the couch.”

“Sounds good.”

_Sounds perfect.  Dear God, what the hell is wrong with me?  I’m getting fucking domestic._

“You don’t have to go out, right?” she added, and he shook his head.

“I’m not on call,” he said.  “If anything important comes in, French can deal with it.  You have me all to yourself.”

“Hmm.”  She shot him a wicked grin.  “Lucky me.”

* * *

He left her in bed, dressing in a white undershirt and jeans before taking her wet things down to the laundry room and throwing them in one of the dryers.  The timer was set for half an hour, and so he went back upstairs to find Lacey opening drawers, the towel still clutched at her chest, trying to find something she could wear.  He gave her a white shirt and a pair of his boxers, the shirt knotted beneath her breasts and the pale blue cotton shorts showing enough of her legs to make the dinner preparation an interesting spectator sport, as far as he was concerned.  Lacey made the pasta sauce, a wonderfully rich mess of crisp bacon pieces with mushrooms and onions, flavoured with sage and finished with a generous amount of cream.  She stirred cooked spaghetti through it, adding lots of grated parmesan and ground black pepper before splitting it between two plates.  They ate it at the kitchen table, a glass of white wine cutting the richness of the sauce.  Lacey licked a blob of cream from her thumb, beaming across at him, and he couldn’t help smiling back.

“Alice been around today?” she asked, before shoving another forkful of pasta into her mouth, and he shook his head, putting down his glass.

“Haven’t seen her for a day or two,” he said.  “She was looking into something for me.  I hope she’s alright.”

Lacey nodded, chewing and swallowing, and picked up her wine glass.

“You think she’ll ever get a proper place?” she asked.  “Seems a shame, her living in a warehouse like that.  Can’t be too healthy.  Or too safe.”

“I’ve tried to tell her that,” he sighed, winding strands of spaghetti around his fork.  “She says she’ll get a place when the time’s right.  God only knows when that’ll be.”

“You should get a two-bed,” she said, with a grin.  “Ask her to move in.”

She giggled as he gave her a very level look.

“Right.  Because there haven’t already been enough instances of her walking in on us when we’re shagging in the kitchen.”

“Oh come on, that was _one time_!” protested Lacey.  “And she thought it was _hilarious_!”

“So did you, as I recall.”  He took a sip of wine.  “Me?  Not so much.”

“Could have been worse,” she said, her tone teasing.

“I fail to see how.”

“Could have been French.”

Well, he had to agree with that, although for the life of him he couldn’t work out why French seeing him getting hot and heavy with Lacey was worse.  It just - was.

“Point taken.”  He gestured with a fork, creamy sauce dripping off the coiled strands of pasta.  “Hence my pouring scorn on your two-bed idea.”

“Make it a three-bed, and he can move in too.”

She giggled at his expression, and he shook his head, pushing the pasta into his mouth.

“You’re very bizarre,” he said, his voice muffled.

“You like me really.”

He could only smile at that, and she grinned back at him, draining her glass and reaching out for the bottle to pour them both another.  He chewed and swallowed, looking down to twirl his fork through the pasta again.

“You’re staying over, right?” he asked, glancing up, and Lacey took a sip of wine, setting down her glass before giving him a little smile.

“Of course,” she said.  “Why would I want to sleep alone when we could sleep together?”

Her smile widened, and he couldn’t help returning it.  Why indeed?

* * *

Once they had finished, he loaded the dishwasher, wiping down the kitchen counter and going back downstairs to retrieve Lacey’s dry clothes before joining her in the lounge.  They finished the wine, and he poured them each a whisky, Lacey nestled by his side as they flicked through TV channels, neither of them able to concentrate on anything.  It was comfortable though, just sitting with her and feeling the warmth of her body.  Smelling the scent of her as her head rolled against his shoulder and his arm tightened around her waist.  It felt nice.  It felt as though this was how things had always been.  How they _should_ be.  Perhaps it was the wine.

Lacey yawned, stretching a little, and let out a contented murmur as he kissed her head.

“Wanna come to bed?” she asked sleepily.

“Right behind you.”

She shifted, pushing to her feet and holding out her hand, and he took it, letting her pull him to his feet as she wandered through to the bedroom.  She crawled into bed, snuggling down beneath the blankets, and he got undressed, peeling off his clothes and pulling on a pair of loose cotton pants before climbing in beside her.  Lacey cuddled into him, her hair tickling his skin and her fingers stroking swirling patterns across his chest.

“I had a good time,” she said eventually.  “Despite getting bloody soaked.”

“So did I,” he said.  “Good food.  Good wine.  Even better company.”

“Good sex.”

“ _Great_ sex,” he corrected, and she giggled.

“Are you too tired for a re-run?”

Weaver shifted, turning a little so that he could see her face.  She was looking mischievous, her eyes shining in the low light of the room, and without warning he pushed her onto her back, making her squeak in surprise.  She began giggling before he could kiss her, and his hand stroked down her body, cupping a breast.  Lacey’s giggles became moans as the hand moved down, pushing beneath the waistband of the boxers to stroke her tender flesh.  She kissed him, their lips parting with a high, wet sound, and her eyelashes fluttered as she stroked fingers through his hair, her expression oddly nervous.

“I’m so glad I went into Roni’s bar that day,” she whispered, and he grinned.

“Glad I threw whisky over you?”

“Glad I gave you shit about it so you offered to buy me more.”

“I’m a gentleman like that.”

“Hmm.”  She looked amused.  “I don’t remember you being too gentlemanly afterwards.”

“You came first, didn’t you?” he said dryly, and she pursed her lips.

“Excellent point.”

She kissed him again, arms twining around his neck, and his fingers stroked, sliding between her folds to release a trickle of slippery fluid.  Lacey moaned into his mouth, pushing against his hand, and his tongue stroked against hers as he gently rubbed his finger through soft, wet flesh.  Her mouth was hot and sweet, and he slipped his hand out of the boxers, pulling them down over her hips and plucking open the buttons of the shirt to bare her breasts.  Lacey was breathing heavily, running her hands up and down his arms, and he pushed the pants down his legs, kicking them off before he pushed her down into the mattress and lay between her legs.  She licked her lips, flicking her eyes up to meet his before glancing to the side, to the nightstand.

“Condom?” she whispered.

He nodded, remembering that they had been less than careful on a couple of occasions now.  It was odd; he was usually meticulous when it came to that sort of thing, but being with Lacey with something between them seemed - wrong.  As though every bit of him should be touching her.  As though nothing should keep them apart.  As though it was meant to be.

He scrabbled in the nightstand drawer for a condom, tearing open the packet and rolling it on before sinking into her.  Lacey moaned, arching her back as he sank deep, her fingers digging into the groove at the base of his spine.  He let out a low groan as she clenched around him, tugging him close, and Lacey swept her hands up his back, sucking in air as he thrust into her.  He cupped her breasts with hands that shook a little, squeezing her, feeling the hard buds of her nipples pressing into his palms, and Lacey moaned, pushing against him, rocking her hips, pulling at him as he moved inside her.  Perspiration formed between them, making their skin slippery, making the air warm and heady with their mingled scents, and he bent his head to her, drawing his tongue up the pale length of her throat and tasting her salt.

He kissed her, moving his hips in a slow circle, grinding against her, and her legs wrapped around his waist, holding him close.  It was slower, and gentler than the frenzied sex they usually enjoyed, and yet it felt right, this closeness, this tenderness.  He broke the kiss, reaching up to frame her face with his hands, to feel the heat of her cheeks and look into her eyes as he moved inside her.  Lacey’s lips were parted and shining, and he could feel her cool breath on his face as he pushed deep, her snug passage like wet silk against him.  It was beautiful.  It was perfect.

She reached up to cup his cheek with a hand, raising her head to kiss him, and he kept up his rhythm, sensations building from deep in his body as his tongue stroked hers.  Lacey was letting out tiny murmurs of pleasure, and her fingers stroked through his hair, scraping his scalp as he quickened his pace a little.  She lifted her hips, bucking them against him, increasing the friction, and he knew they were almost there.  Almost ready.  He pulled his mouth free, pressing his brow to hers, his breathing hard and heavy, and Lacey stroked her hands up his back, making him shiver.

“Oh, Lacey!” he breathed.  “Oh _God,_  I have to come inside you!”

“Yes!” she whispered.  “Yes, I need you!”

He pumped his hips, wanting to laugh out loud at the tide of bliss that swept through him, that stole his breath and blinded him as lights burst in his head.  He let out a loud cry of ecstasy, and Lacey shouted with him, clenching around him as her hips jerked and she came hard.  He continued to thrust into her, both of them letting out cries and groans, until they were spent, and he settled down onto her to catch his breath, inhaling the scent of her perspiration, the scent of her arousal.  Lacey held him close, fingers stroking over his shoulders as she drew deep, shuddering breaths.

“Well,” she said eventually.  “That was different.”

He smiled against her shoulder, his lips pulling at her skin as he kissed her.

“Yes,” he whispered.

There was silence for a moment, and he closed his eyes, enjoying the feel of her surrounding him as he shrank inside her, and the softness of her body beneath his.  Her fingers danced over his shoulders, flickering across the nape of his neck and making him shiver.  He pushed up on his elbows to look down at her, her hair tousled and wonderfully messy, her cheeks flushed.  She was chewing her lower lip, looking utterly adorable, and he felt a smile spread across his face.   _God help me, I love her.  I love her._

Lacey glanced up at him, her eyes heavy with pleasure and looking as though they wanted to slide shut.

“You want to go to sleep?” she asked, and he nodded.

“I think so.”

He slipped out of her, rolling onto his back as she got out of bed and went to use the bathroom.  Her skin was cold when she returned, sliding in beside him and draping herself across his chest as she kissed him.  He held her close, an arm around her waist, kissing the top of her head as she relaxed against him with a contented sigh.  It felt good.  It felt right.

* * *

He was slow to wake the next morning, the bed warm and comfortable, but reaching out to the side he couldn’t find Lacey.  His eyes fluttered and opened, and his nose twitched a little as he smelled fresh coffee.  Throwing back the covers, he pulled on clean underwear and jeans and a blue shirt before padding through to the kitchen in his bare feet.  Lacey was already dressed in her dry clothes, thick tights and a tight purple jersey dress.  She was standing at the counter, putting sliced bread into the toaster, and he took a moment to watch her, absently twisting the ring Alice had given him around his finger.  He was smiling as Lacey’s rear twitched from side to side, her dark curls bouncing around her shoulders as she stretched up to take cups from the cupboard and set them by the pot of coffee.

“Hey,” he said, and she jumped, turning to face him with a grin on her face.  Her cheeks were a little flushed, blue eyes gleaming at him.

“Hey yourself,” she said, and held up a cup.  “Coffee?”

“Please.”

“I was going to do eggs, too,” she added.  “You hungry?”

“Let’s have the coffee first,” he suggested.

“In need of caffeine?”  Her eyes were sparkling.  “Kind of that way myself.  I slept for eight hours and I still feel like a zombie.”

“I know the feeling.”

“Hmm.”  She carried the coffee pot and cups to the table.  “Must be all that awesome sex.”

“Must be.”

She turned back, twining her arms around his neck and grinning up at him.

“Should warn a girl before you get all intense like that,” she added.  “I thought my entire body was gonna explode.”

She gave him a brief kiss, her hands sliding down his arms and across his chest as she settled back on her heels.  He smiled, his heart swelling until it felt as though it would fill his chest, and he reached up to cup her cheek.

“I love you, Lacey,” he whispered, and her mouth fell open in shock before she snapped it shut.

“Really?” she said softly.  His smile widened.

“Really really.”

Lacey bit her lip, eyes shining as she broke into a beautiful smile.

“Well,” she said.  “Well, I love you, too.  Does this mean I can keep a toothbrush here?”

He laughed at that, and put his other hand on her cheek, framing her face.

“Yes, you can keep a fucking toothbrush here,” he said.  “You can keep all your stuff here, if you like.”

Her eyebrows shot upwards, and the tip of her tongue darted across her lips.

“You mean it?” she said softly.  “You - you want me to move in?”

“Why not?” he asked.  “We get along, don’t we?  Like you said.  It - it seems ridiculous to sleep apart if we don’t have to.”

Lacey was staring at him, eyes sparkling, and she nodded wordlessly, her mouth working a little, as though she was trying not to cry.  She was so beautiful.  A creature of light and life, to counter his darkness.  He realised that he needed her, almost as much as he wanted her.  That he loved her.  More than he could remember loving anything or anyone in his life.  He bent his head to kiss her, her mouth warm and soft against his, and something rippled in the air around them, a burst of energy that stole his breath and made lights burst in his eyes.  A torrent of memories poured into his head, almost too much to bear, and he groaned in agony, feeling as though his mind would burst.  At last it was over, and he was panting for breath, blinking to clear the stars in his vision and the throbbing pain in his head.

“Are you okay?”

Lacey’s heart was thumping a little too hard, and his hands were clutching at her shoulders, as though he needed her to hold him up.  He raised his eyes, and there was something different in them, something she had never seen before.  Shock, and stunned disbelief, as though he had just received terrible, devastating news, and was unsure how to process it.  His eyes were almost those of a stranger, dark and deep as the earth and somehow ancient, filled with anguish and loss and the smallest, faintest hope.  She could understand none of it.  Something was wrong.

“Are you okay?” she repeated, and he seemed to see her properly, his eyes wide, his lower lip trembling.

“Belle?” he breathed.  “I don’t - no no no, that’s not possible!”

Lacey wrinkled her brow, confused.

“Who’s Belle?”


End file.
